Uncle Ben's Blog

As I drive along the many roads of life, one thing remains the constant of all constants: death. That's right. The primary of life's two certainties (taxes being the other one). Ol' Grim Reaper himself waits for no man. So as lives are plucked out at a seemingly random order, one can relish in the thought that their memories will be forever ensconced... on the back of a '04 Chevy Suburban. Holy white trash, Batman! Nothing says "Never Forget" like strapping some mall-made "RIP Mama" sticker to the back of your Honda Civic so that everyone who has the unfortunate enough experience of being stuck behind you at a red light can bask in the remembrance of your literal moving memorial. The last thing I want once I punch my ticket off this planet is anyone close to me dedicating their soccer mom van to my memory. How about a scholarship? How about naming one of the 14 kids you either have or are going to have over the next 4 years after the departed? Holy shit, Facebook memorials think these car RIPs are beneath even them. And enough with roadside memorials too. Dude, I get it, it sucks, your homie died on the side of the road either by his own incompetence or his failure to obey simple traffic laws. But again, the last thing I think either he or his family would want would be a constant reminder of when, how and where that dude wandered into traffic. And can we put a time limit on these things? How long do I have to look at a fucking Lakers jersey and a skateboard nailed to a cross on the side of the road? And won't me and every other passerby looking at that roadside gravesite increase the chances of causing another accident thereby increasing the number of memorials thereby increasing the number of accidents thereby increasing the... holy shit! So keep the flowers and the glossy 8x10s and the crosses the size of a Mini Cooper to where they belong... at the ground zero base of horrific terrorist attacks. Too soon? RIP bitch. But I digress...